On a roller-coaster

Things are becoming increasingly difficult – more in psychological than physical terms. This week has once again shown that the whole thing is like riding a roller-coaster.

On Monday, as I reported, I asked the Professor about my voice. He sort of brushed over the subject and said it could take up to a year to normalise. That was that. But it must have bothered him all the same because on Monday afternoon, I was transported off to the Ear, Nose & Throat department to have my vocal cords looked at. It was quite an enjoyable visit, actually, because EN&T are in a remote part of the hospital and to get to it, you are taken in a wheelchair down into the labyrinth of tunnels underneath the hospital. Down there, they load you onto a small electrical van thing – a bit like a milk-float – and then you’re driven through the labyrinth for about 10 minutes. It’s almost like having your own little private tube train!

Anyway, the two doctors at EN&T stuck a camera up my nose and down my throat and showed me the situation on the computer screen. One of the nerves that opens and closes the vocal cord on the right has been numbed through the operation. Instead of the two cords closing like lift doors that meet in the middle, only one of them is reacting properly, while the other “door” only goes part of the way. That’s why I only have about a quarter of a voice. They said it’s not serious and will correct itself. There are exercises I can do to make the numb nerve do its job again more quickly. A specialist for that is due to visit me at 12 noon today. Anyway, it looks as though that will all be okay.

Also on Monday, I was told that my blood tests looked much better and everything was beginning to get back to normal. They would change the liquid nourishment, which they did that evening.

So there I was, feeling quite positive about it all when, all of a sudden, WHAM!

My body took an instinct dislike to the new nourishment and I was clobbered with massive diarrhoea all night. At the same time, I was producing far too much frothy saliva which was collecting in the drainage bag but to such an extent that the bag kept on bursting. There was mess everywhere. The only way to deal with it is to keep on changing the dressings, but my throat is now so sore from all the dressings that every new one hurts like hell.

By yesterday morning, I looked and felt like a beached whale. They quickly decided to change my food again, but of course there was no immediate reaction. I was seriously weakened again and, after hearing the good stuff on Monday, was now deeply depressed about all this new trouble. I felt I didn’t want to do anything or see anyone or communicate at all, not even with my loved ones. I just wanted to go to sleep for about a fortnight and wake up to find that it had all just been a bad nightmare.

Andy visited me late afternoon. Even with him, I couldn’t raise the energy to sit up and talk. I was only partly conscious. It was a dreadful feeling.

Anyway, I remained like that until well into the evening, by which time at least the diarrhoea had stopped. I half-heartedly watched some football on the miniature TV and then fell into a restless sleep.

This morning, I feel much better. One of the assistant doctors dropped by and agreed with me that things were becoming psychologically difficult and it was time to come up with some fixed plans and dates so that I had a concrete map of what was going to happen next. They’re going to try to get a clear plan of action sorted out today. Whether they do or not remains to be seen.

I hope I can get through today without any further mishaps.